“Hmm,” I said.
“He’s less broke than grumpy bear,” she said, squatting on the table in an untidy heap.
I sighed and ran my fingers through my wet hair. “I didn’t realise how much damage I’d do simply by removing myself from Elfhame. I thought it wouldn’t even notice. All these people are suffering because of me.”
She poked the centre of my forehead. “All these people suffer because they refused to help you. You took charge. Made a decision. Saved the life of a child. You did good. They did bad. They are just trying to blame you because they won’t take responsibility.”
I took hold of her grubby hand and kissed the back of it. “You are very kind, little one, but I fear you might be wrong,” I said.
“Gifling never wrong,” she informed me.
A noise made me turn and my breath caught in my throat. Paris stood in the doorway. He’d tied his hair back, leaving his face free, and his eyes were bright, but older and darker than I remembered. The eyes of a man who knows real pain. Although smaller than me in every respect, he was perfectly formed and I felt my heart ache to be allowed to touch him as casually as I had in easier times.
“You dressed wisely,” I said, trying to drag my eyes from the tightly fitting, heavily decorated black leather waistcoat over the fitted silk shirt and leather hose with long, long boots. He wore a sword and dagger and carried a small hunting bow.
His skin flushed with pleasure at the compliment, the pale flesh colouring perfectly. “Thank you,” he said. “Who or what is that?” he asked, pointing a black gloved hand at Gifling.
“That is my guide, my friend and hopefully someone who will help against my father’s madness, but no guarantees, hey, Gifling?” I ruffled her mess of hair.
She poked her tongue out and harrumphed.
I rose from the table and crossed the room to my friend. “Are you sure you want to do this? Facing Leo isn’t going too easy for any of us, least of all someone she’s hurt. I’ve seen the damage she’s done to Marcus, including the mess inside his head.”
“I would follow you anywhere, Highness,” Paris said. He looked up at me through his long eyelashes and something in me melted at the sight. I lifted his chin and placed a kiss on his lips, just a kiss, tender and chaste.
We stared into each other’s souls for a long time until a small and bitter smile graced Paris’ lips. He silently patted my chest and moved past me, his shoulder brushing mine and I felt lost – profoundly lost. How did he keep producing that sensation inside me?
“The path is this way,” he said, the tone bright and just a little too forced. He moved across the kitchen and into the pantry, Gifling followed and I noticed a collection of kitchen knives stuffed in her clothing. It would be like grabbing an angry hedgehog.
Paris struck a spark to a lamp, reached into the ceiling of the pantry and I heard a soft click. A small doorway opened and Gifling walked through easily. Paris bent at the waist and I almost had to crawl into a passageway made for smaller Seelie than the ones they bred in the royal house.
I followed the light carefully, mindful of my head, but it didn’t take long to open out, enabling me to stand upright.
“I don’t remember this passageway,” I whispered.
“That’s because we never used this passageway,” Paris said in a normal voice making me flinch. When using secret passages, I felt one should always whisper. “I didn’t share all my secrets with you, Falcon.”
I looked at him in the lamplight, the bitterness in his tone making me reassess him yet again. I was beginning to think I didn’t know Paris at all. But then I wasn’t certain I knew Marcus either. I suddenly missed my office, my creaky chair and my apartment. I missed cars, smog and coffee with ridiculous names. I missed Bethan.
“Sorry, Paris, you’re right. I don’t really know anything about your life.” I tried to raise a smile but my face was reluctant to obey. He turned away and continued to lead us into the palace grounds, through the tunnels carved from the living rock of Elfhame.
It took time, a surprising amount of time as we first moved downward and then up, twisting in on ourselves at one point before reaching a plain wooden doorway. Gifling hopped from foot to foot, I didn’t know if she was excited or scared. I was scared despite spending the walk trying to figure out how to kill my sister.
Paris pressed his gloved finger to my lips. The leather was soft and I wanted to draw the whole thing into my mouth. I’d been celibate for far too long and he’d released me from my self-imposed sexual exile because of work commitments. He placed his mouth close to my ear and breathed, “We are outside your father’s bedchamber, that’s why we never used this passageway.” His breath tickled and I shivered, turning my face toward his, our lips touched for a moment. He pulled back, leaving me bereft.
It struck me then what he’d said; my father’s bedchamber had a passageway to Paris’ house. That meant my father could reach it at any time without anyone knowing.
I grabbed his arm. “Which of your parents was the old bastard fucking?” I whispered.
Paris blinked rapidly, trying to track my thoughts. “I don’t know,” he said. “My mother I expect.”
“Tell me we aren’t half-brothers,” I hissed, my grip on his arm tightening.
He grinned and a soft chuckle escaped him. “It’s not like we have to worry about the offspring.” He sighed when I glared at him, demanding a sensible answer. “Don’t worry, Falcon. I’m not related to you.”
I let go of his arm with relief – at least I knew I had a line in the sand somewhere.
Gifling let out a small keening sound and I knelt beside her. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
Her eyes were now very bright and very yellow, dandelion yellow. “I can smell him. He’s needs me,” she chose a stage whisper, which meant she was barely below her normal voice. “I need to get out of here.” She tugged at Paris’ sleeve and he pulled away making a face. Ugly Seelie weren’t something the beautiful of our kind liked to look on, and it was one of the things I hated about my own people.
“She’ll just keep fussing until you release her, and I think she has a plan,” I whispered.
He muttered and once more reached over our heads to click a small lever. The door slid open and for the first time in decades I stepped into the palace of the Seelie royal house.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Silence. Musty air. Dark and cold. I frowned; my father was never alone in his lucid moments or when he was mad. He hated the dark, light filled his life and, although his slaves would always be quiet, no space can have people in it and feel empty.
I reached out to grab Gifling to keep her close but she melted from my grasp and jogged off on her short legs. I followed and Paris came with me. We were in the antechamber of a series of rooms that made up my father’s large apartment. The furniture all lay shrouded in white sheets, dust covered the floor and cobwebs were scattered in the corners. The walls were very dark, but here in the centre of my father’s personal space, they should be white, blazing with his inner light.
We continued along a short corridor and Gifling opened a door slowly. Paris held the light up but put a hand on my arm. “I don’t think this is going to be pleasant,” he warned.
“She did to him what she did to you?” I asked.
“I don’t think she needed to, Falcon. I know the two of you were never close, your father isn’t an easy man to like, never mind love, but this could be messy,” Paris said.
I grunted in response and we entered the old man’s room. It was so dark even I couldn’t see a damned thing. Paris raised his lamp and there before us was nothing – no grand bed, no chairs for the attendants, no rugs or paintings, no clothes. A chain hung from the centre of the wall flanked by two huge blacked-out windows and my father sat on the other end of the chain, his ankle trapped by its simple function. He was naked. A bucket stood nearby, stinking the room out, and he rocked on his thin haunches. The long silver hair had been sheared from his hea
d, leaving untidy clumps.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered.
Gifling approached the old man and touched his arm. He shrieked, startling all of us. The small woman smacked him on the head and told him to hush. I was shaken and didn’t know what to do. Gifling whispered in my father’s ear and although I couldn’t hear her words I saw their effect on him. From a heap of flesh and bone, with blank eyes and totally unaware of his surrounds, I watched awareness seep into the wandering mind. His fingers flexed and Gifling slipped her hand into his and he gripped it tightly. She continued the quiet stream of words.
“You trust her?” Paris asked.
“I have no reason not to and she’s been kind to me.”
“What is she?”
“Meadow elf.” I held up my hand to prevent his disbelief. “I know, why am I trusting my father to the last of her kind, but she wants to help Elfhame and stop my sister. She’s been hiding in the human world for centuries.”
“You’re mad.”
“It runs in the family,” I said without thinking. I knelt before my father and Gifling. “What do I need to do?” I asked her.
She turned her large eyes to me and they were full of tragedy. “He very sick. Set him free,” she said, looking down at the chain.
“I will but I need to know it’s safe... That he’ll be safe and not draw enemies to us,” I said.
“Birdie trust Gifling,” she said.
That wasn’t an answer but I was out of my depth and needed her support. She might stick one of those knives in the old man, or she might stick me – I just had to trust her to help.
I took hold of the rough iron cuff and pushed energy into it, the whole thing disintegrating into rust.
“Fucking hell, Fal,” Paris murmured.
I glanced up at him. “The old man is losing control, I’m soaking up what Leo isn’t draining. I’d give it back if I could.”
“You will, Birdie,” Gifling said. “Go find nasty big cat. Kill it. Save grumpy bear and leave me here.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. I found a knife at my throat faster than even I could move. Gifling pushed her ragtag head close to mine.
“Go, Birdie. The king is mine now,” she said. I stared into her eyes and they were completely present and totally sane. I swallowed hard and nodded. She backed off and focused completely on my father, who seemed to be trying to climb into her lap. She clucked and whistled as if he were a stray puppy. I rose from the floor and Paris pulled me away.
“You know the meadow elves are different to us, right?” he said.
“I might have been away from home a long time, Paris, but I’m not that forgetful,” I said. We walked toward the main door, both watching the strange pair on the floor of the empty room. “Has Leo cut him off from Elfhame like she did you? Is that why I’m growing in strength constantly?” I asked.
“You think Elfhame is thrashing around trying to push her power into someone else whether the old man is dead or not?” Paris mulled it over and shrugged. “I think you have a point but why you don’t just accept it and take over is something I don’t understand.”
We were walking along a hallway which led into the heart of the citadel and with it Gimlé’s heart. I took point, watching the corridor ahead and staying close to the walls. I wished for a large semi-automatic submachine gun and a few grenades but wishes weren’t my speciality. Paris watched our back and hugged the walls even more tightly than me. I could feel his fear. Why he opted to fight by my side I didn’t understand, facing Leo clearly terrified him, but he stood beside me because he believed in me.
“I can’t take the throne, Paris. I can’t be king.”
“Because of a slave?” he asked. I heard his contempt.
“Because I am not the right man for the job. Elfhame needs someone grounded, sensible, stable. I am none of those things.”
“You aren’t those things for Marcus because he doesn’t like those bits of you but you can’t tell me you aren’t those things among the humans or you wouldn’t be successful,” Paris said.
I stopped and looked at him. “What are talking about?”
He clenched his jaw, clearly not wanting to explain. We remained in the tableau until he relented. “Fine. I kept an eye on you and no I don’t know where your brother is, that’s what Leo wanted to know more than anything because she knows I care about you, but I just... I had to know you were alright. I had to know you were happy.” He stared at the ground. “I had to know you were safe.”
“I had no idea.”
He smiled, that bitter and twisted smile I remembered from our arguments. “You’ve never had any idea, Falcon, that’s what makes me so fucking pathetic. I could have any Seelie I wanted – I am celebrated as the most perfect vision of our race – but all I want is you. A fucked up princeling who is a slave to a slave.” The anger in him startled me and scared me slightly.
“Paris...”
He held up his hand and my voice faded. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter, Falcon. You want your confused and fucked up relationship with Marcus. I want something normal. I want you as an equal.”
“Marcus and I are equals,” I argued weakly.
“No, Fal, you aren’t. I’m not sure what you are and it might work for you, but it’s fucking odd from the outside, even by Seelie standards,” Paris said. He poked me. “We don’t have time for this. Move. We have to find Marcus first, then Leo.”
I nodded and allowed him to push me forward. We began to hear noise, music, singing, shouting. I glanced at Paris. His face was grim. “A party,” he said. “It isn’t much fun except for those in Leo’s favour.”
“Will Marcus be there?” I asked.
Paris shook his head. “He’s old news. It does mean we’ll be able to find his pelt. I think I know where it’ll be,” he said.
We were at the edge of a dark hallway, sat back from a hub, the carved heart of the mountain towering over our heads but the rock almost black rather than bright white. We watched slaves racing around with platters of food and wines. They were moving with heads down, silent, small movements and guards stood nearby. Paris indicated we needed to leave the area of activity.
If it were possible to pour yourself around a building, then that’s what we did, we poured ourselves around the corner and followed the shadows.
Down through the corridors and I realised we were moving toward my old apartments and therefore Leo’s. We were silent and grim. I poked my head around a corner and saw the first confrontation we’d have to deal with – four guards on Leo’s door.
I drew my head back and flicked four fingers up at Paris, then indicated where the enemy stood with a gesture. Paris frowned, clearly confused. My army training was wasted on Seelie. I repeated the movements slowly and Paris nodded understanding. I loaded the crossbow with a bolt and Paris drew his bow. I stepped across the corridor, hugged the wall and focused on one of the guards. These were men following orders, my sister’s orders. They were innocent of everything but helping her maintain power. I wondered if that made them guilty enough to die. Paris decided for me. His released his arrow and a man dropped, the target his neck. My friend had always been a fine shot. I released my bolt, and hit the same spot on my victim. Two down in silence. We were already moving toward three and four before the bodies hit the ground.
The guards both moved, drawing their blades, but they were too slow. Paris and I cut, thrust, parried, thrust and hit our preferred points. I drove my dagger under the black breastplate the guard wore. Paris once more went for the neck, his dagger going straight into the guard’s brain.
Both men collapsed. Paris stepped back from the pool of blood. “Yuck,” he said, pulling a face.
I smiled at him and wiped off a bead of blood from his cheek. “You should have become a Hunter.”
He snorted in derision. “I don’t think so, too many rules, orders and general lack of sex. No, I don’t think so.” He was flushed with the excitement of the short fight, his eyes
very bright. “Marcus, Falcon, we’re here to find Marcus.”
I inhaled sharply and realised I’d been lost in memories, those involving my relationship with Paris over that one summer I’d been deployed to work in Gimlé with Marcus. “Yes, of course, sorry.” I dropped my hand. “We need to move the bodies.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” he moaned. “Nasty, mucky job.”
I grabbed the ankles of one of the men and pulled him toward a door, not Leo’s bedchamber, a room used by her slaves and servants. It wasn’t large and contained simple beds with thin mattresses; we piled the bodies on the beds and left them. Anxiety twisted inside me – would I find Marcus inside her rooms and what state would he be in? Was he dead? Had I lingered too long in Paris’ arms? I’d been so careful not to consider the implications, simply pursuing the objective of stopping Leo and saving his life. Now... Rats nested in my belly and I feared stepping over the threshold of her rooms.
“Falcon?” Paris’ hand reached for my shoulder. “Are you alright? You’ve gone very pale.”
I looked into his worried blue eyes. “I’m scared.” I swallowed hard, trying not give into the surging emotions.
“He’ll be there, he’ll be alive and you’ll save him,” Paris said. He squeezed my shoulder. I nodded and dragged a smile up from my boots. Considering his feelings toward me, I don’t know how he managed to be so generous.
“Let’s go.” I turned to the door.
“Wait, Fal,” Paris said. I glanced over my shoulder. “I need to tell you something and I need to do it before you see Marcus and I lose you to him.” I frowned, about to say something but he held his hand up for silence and continued. “It broke my heart, handing you back to him. Our love affair... I know it was a lifetime ago, but... Falcon, those feelings – they’ve never gone. I’ve tried to forget you but I can’t. I don’t just love you, I’m in love with you. I have to make you understand.”
Seelie (The Falcon Grey Files Book 1) Page 19
